


Unconventional faith

by Redpandalavellan



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, POV Inquisitor (Dragon Age), oneshots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:22:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24249502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redpandalavellan/pseuds/Redpandalavellan
Summary: A small collection of oneshots for my second worldstate inquisitor, Katar Adaar
Relationships: Male Adaar/Josephine Montilyet, Male Inquisitor/Josephine Montilyet
Kudos: 12





	1. Misfit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Growing up qunari in a small human village isn't easy, and Katar learns that the hard way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was "misfit" so I thought I'd give a little insight into Katars childhood

He stood by the fence, gripping the wood tightly and peering through the gaps in the slats at the building beyond. It was large, relative to the small size of the town, and in the daytime people came and went with regular frequency. But now as evening fell, the building sat almost empty, and Katar hadn't seen anyone enter or leave for some minutes as he stayed and watched.  
His mother would expect him home soon, but his curiosity outweighed whatever obligations he might have in the moment.  
Outside the building stood a lone templar, standing guard as they did every day. Katar couldn't see their face through the heavy armour that gleamed bright, even in the low light.  
It wasn't long before they hoisted their shield and disappeared into the building, and Katar gathered the courage to follow, sprinting up the steps while they remained unwatched.  
He opened the large doors as slowly as possible, helped by the fact that they were almost too heavy for him to move by himself, and slipped quietly into the entrance way.  
He was greeted by a large open hall, modest by the standards of the grand cathedrals of Val Royeux or even the chantries of most larger cities, but it was the grandest thing he had ever seen. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling and tapestries covered the walls, depicting ages past and captivating his attention.  
He stared at them for a while, walking down each wall and drinking in the story in the pictures. His mother had told him the story of Andraste, how she freed the slaves and fought the imperium even before their people did. She had told him all of this and led them in prayers to the Maker, but never brought him here.  
Each time she would simply deflect his curiosity, tell him it was "complicated", and forbid him from exploring that far. But he wanted to see it.  
He stared up at a large statue of Andraste, holding out two braziers of fire, and wondered if he should kneel and pray like he did with his mother. As he stood and contemplated what to pray for, a clattering sound to his right made him turn his head.  
A lay sister stood by the entrance to a side room, the metal bowl she had been carrying upended on the floor, staring at him with a look like a frightened rabbit.  
"Demon!" She screamed in a shrill voice, turning around and running back into the room, robes flapping.  
Katar jumped back in fright, quickly turning his head to try and find what she had seen. His heart hammered and he suddenly wished he had heeded his parents warnings, he knew demons were dangerous and evil and never imagined they would be found here.  
Quickly an older woman rushed into the room, flanked by the templar from the door, now with their sword drawn.  
They stopped as they saw him and the templar lowered their sword halfway, both of them stood with stony expressions as Katar cowered under their gaze.  
"Get out!" The woman barked and Katar took an unsteady step back, now just as confused as he was fearful. He saw no demon, only an irate woman and a templar pointing a sword in his direction.  
"You're a trouble making beast, you have no place here, get out!"  
She gave a pointed look at the templar who paused for a moment and then slowly advanced on Katar.  
He turned and quickly ran towards the door, forcing it open just enough for him to squeeze out ahead of the following soldier. He ran as fast as he could, breathing heavily between sobs as he raced out of the town centre and towards the outskirts where his house lay.  
His mother was already standing anxiously by the end of the path as he came into view in the semi-darkness. She rushed to meet him and gathered him up into her arms, letting him sob into her shoulder as she slowly extracted the story from him.

"He snuck into the chantry and they drove him out." Hissera said quietly, trying not to wake the two sleeping boys at the other end of the room.  
She could see the anger building in Kost's eyes as he sat rigidly in his chair, and quickly moved to intervene.  
"No, Kost, calm down-"  
He went to stand and she tried to push him into his seat, leading him to give an outburst of anger.  
"Calm down? They chased him out like some kind of beast! I won't let them treat my son that way!"  
He stormed towards the door and she blocked his path, hissing in a lowered voice.  
"You'll wake the boys! Calm down, Kost!"  
He paused for a moment, eyes flicking to the bunk beds where the two children remained still, and then he scowled.  
"I'm going to have a word with that woman."  
He growled, and Hissera put a hand on his shoulder.  
"No. We're already outcasts here Kost, don't make this any worse for us. We can't afford to antagonize them."  
He bristled at the remark.  
"So we just let them treat our children like this? You saw how upset he was! You harp on about the Maker and he eats it up, but when they throw him out of the chantry you won't stand up for him?"  
Anger soon bled from her own voice as well as she replied in a low whisper.  
"Would you rather invite them to gather their torches and pitchforks? To drive us from the town? Don't give them an excuse!"  
She took a deep steadying breath and attempted to keep her voice calm and even, speaking in low tones to try and soothe his anger and avoid disturbing the night.  
"Andraste teaches patience and forgiveness, and you should think on that more often."  
He folded his arms and avoided her eyes, the anger slowly bleeding out of him. He turned to watch the blankets rise and fall in the corner with the breathing of the two small bodies.  
"They'll always be misfits here."  
He grunted quietly, mind whirring with distant pasts and possibilities.  
"Yes." She replied sadly. "But they would have had no life at all if we had stayed."  
"I suppose not." He sighed and sat back down, Hissera coming to sit next to him and take his hand.  
"We can make this work." She said quietly. "Just keep to ourselves. If we don't bother them they won't bother us."  
He snorted derisively in response.  
"They'll always bother us."  
She planted a soft kiss on his forehead, and he leaned into her with a sigh.  
"But we do it for them." She reminded him and he nodded against her embrace.  
"For them."


	2. Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When he was 16, Katar followed his older brother into mercenary work. When he was 23, his brother failed to follow him out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another inktober prompt and more of Katars pre-inquisition life. This time it's "Dark"

The sun had fallen low beneath the horizon by the time they entered the camp. Their group was one of the last to return, having been held up processing prisoners, and the darkness already blanketed the rest of the expanse, barely kept at bay by the presence of their large bonfires.  
Many of the other complements already sat surrounding the fires, bloody and bruised, and Katar wanted nothing more than to join them with some ale. It had been a hard battle, no harder than most, but his muscles ached and he could feel the raw skin protesting where his heavy armour had chafed. He fumbled with the buckles in his exhaustion, finally dropping the armour near his bunk along with his large axe and a sigh of relief as the pressure lifted from his aching shoulders. He would have to properly clean it before he retired for the night, but there were others things he'd rather do first.  
Stopping off by the food tent he grabbed a hunk of bread and a drink, just enough to satisfy him for the evening. Chewing as he went, he began his usual circuit around the fires, searching for familiar faces.

  
He checked in with a few friends, some a little worse for wear but glad to see no lasting injuries among them, and after a few minutes caught sight of Isha. She was hunched over one of the fires by the edge of the camp, still wearing her bloody leather armour. Knives, uncleaned, just shoved back into their holsters. She looked exhausted, simply staring into the flames without appearing to see them at all, and she was alone.  
Something in his gut suddenly felt wrong, like some beast was sneaking up behind him about to pounce, setting his teeth on edge. Where was Sataar? They were practically joined at the horns these days, never far from one another for more than a few moments if they could help it. He pushed the feeling aside, striding forcefully towards the fire. Perhaps he was getting her some food, she did look rough after all.  
"Isha!" He called out, raising his flagon in greeting as he approached with a smile.  
She turned with a start at the sound of his voice and as he caught her gaze his stomach dropped. Her eyes were red and raw, with tear tracks still running through the mud and blood that stained her face. She stared at him with fear, like a cornered animal, and the fear melted into sadness and pity the longer she looked at him.

  
He stopped in his tracks, suddenly unable to move. One look was all he needed, everything written plain on her face, the beast now breathing down the back of his neck as his heart pounded and his chest tightened. But he refused to accept it.  
"Where's Sataar?" He asked, but his voice didn't sound like his own. It was hesitant and fearful, far too quiet.  
A frown graced her face and her lips trembled. She turned her gaze downwards, unable to look him in the eye.  
"I'm sorry Katar-" She began quietly, her voice hitching and mournful, but he cut her off as soon as she began.  
"No. Where is he?" He asked again, more forcefully. She was being ridiculous, there was nothing to be sorry about. Sataar would be around here somewhere, ready to grab him by the shoulders from behind like he always hated, and tell him all about the daring stunts he and Isha had pulled while Katar's group was stuck in the flanking ranks. He couldn't just be gone, he wouldn't do that, he wouldn't leave him.  
"Where's my brother?"

  
The words ripped mournfully from his throat, leaving it broken and raw. Mercenary work was dangerous. Of course every battle could be their last, every goodbye their final conversation. But it wouldn't be. It never would be. Not his brother. Not them.  
He sat heavily on the ground, his food falling into the dirt, forgotten.  
She continued talking to him, but the words never reached his ears. In time he would learn about the assault of the fort, the explosives placed by the inner gates, the artificer in the wrong place at the wrong time, priming fuses and receiving a dagger between the ribs. But here and now he simply sat in enforced silence as the world passed by without him.  
He couldn't say who tried to talk to him or move him, but he simply ignored all.  
The fires burned down and darkness enveloped him, and still he sat.  
His muscles stiffened and the cold seeped into his bones and still he sat.  
Eventually morning would break and the sun would rise, the rest of the camp packing up and getting ready to leave. He would even join them, going through the motions of cleaning and packing his equipment, following the march to the next job, but it would never be the same again.  
He was alone, and the world was dark.


	3. Sling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haven was a hard fought battle, one that nobody escaped unscathed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, another inktober prompt - Sling

The mirror was small and dirty, cracked in a few places around the edges and smeared with dust and unidentifiable grime. He decided he would rather not try and identify it.  
He had to stoop slightly to see his own face in it. He wasn't tall by any standards for a qunari, but the mirror was hung at human head height. Everything was always made with humans in mind.  
Purple bruises discoloured the right side of his face, and similar marks continued across the rest of his body, some turning an unpleasant shade of yellow as they matured.

_A long and hard fought battle, swords and arrows glancing off his heavy chain armour but not without leaving the painful signs of their attempt on his life._   
_Standing and staring up into the face of corruption, refusing to budge, giving no quarter._   
_Dashed against wood and metal and stone and earth, falling deeper and down as white silence enveloped him._

Unthinkingly he went to raise his left arm and his face contorted into a wince as pain flared through his forearm. The bone had been reset and fixed in a splint, the remaining wounds stitched and bandaged, and the limb tied in a sling around his neck. He hated the restriction on his movement, but the healers were needed elsewhere on soldiers more seriously wounded than he, and since the defection of the southern mages to this elder one healing magic was in short supply.

_Bloodied and bruised but not broken, stumbling in the dark and the cold, face to face with the demons that haunted him._   
_Bone protruding through skin in a way that made him thankful for his strong stomach, unable to even lift his sword, pain gnawing at the edges of his vision._   
_Mark flaring with strange green power, demons banished back from whence they came, clearing a path to escape._

He raised his right arm instead, reaching across to run his fingertips down the length of his left horn. The smooth surface gave way to jagged edges halfway down where the end half had been snapped off in the struggle. He couldn't even recall how or when it had happened, the fight had been so chaotic and there were no nerve endings in the horn to feel pain when it was broken.  
It was this reason that led some of the Tal-Vashoth in his old mercenary group to remove their own horns, along with the belief that it made them more fearsome. Perhaps it was another thing that could only be understood if you grew up in the Qun, where hornless qunari were seen as special and powerful, but Katar couldn't see how anything could be more fearsome than a strong pair of horns.

He ran his fingers carefully over the uneven sharp points, turning his head to try and get an angle where he could see the back of his own head in the mirror. He should do something about it, file down the ends before he ended up ripping his shirts or stabbing himself accidentally, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.  
You don't live a mercenary life without picking up injuries and scars, and they had never bothered him before, but seeing his broken horns filled him with a sense of shame.

They had lost. It was a constant reminder.

He had fought, and he had been beaten, barely escaping with his life. Many others hadn't escaped with theirs.  
Somehow he felt responsible. They looked up to him, 'The Herald of Andraste', but he couldn't save them all. They had died in the fire and the snow because he was unprepared. He had to do better.  
He swore in that moment, whatever it took to win this war, he would do it. Corypheus would pay dearly for the lives he had taken.


	4. Build

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the destruction of Haven, Katar ends up with a new position and a fortress to go with it, but there's still some work to be done before the Inquisition is ready

Skyhold was a work in progress, but coming together quickly. When they had moved in the place was deserted, and for good reason. Walls crumbled and halls were filled with rotten wood, vines and weeds reclaiming the cracks between the stones like an encroaching army.  
Still they got to work, hauling away rubble and putting up scaffolding around the halls and battlements. As they settled in there were many decisions to be made, and now that he was labelled Inquisitor the advisors suddenly required his approval for each one of them. He spent days trapped in meetings not only with his colleagues but also visiting nobles eager to take their own piece of the Inquisition's new growing power.

After a few weeks he decided he could stand meetings and paperwork no longer, his patience wearing thin. But there was as much work to be done away from a desk as in front of it, and he was happy to throw himself into it. Moving beams, hauling rubble, chopping wood, anything to work up a sweat and rest his mind. And if the pretty ambassador saw him shirtless lifting something heavy? Well that was just a bonus.  
Katar pulled out some old practical clothes and set to work, joining up with the other labourers to ferry building materials through the castle. The Iron Bull had been right when he talked about the Inquisitor simply being a figurehead. As long as he kept quiet and worked hard, none of the other men took any notice of him, he was simply another hired hand, or perhaps a volunteer soldier. He enjoyed the work, the chance to do something simple and honest after weeks of strategy and battle, until he became a little too forgettable.

As he carried a pile of timber beams towards the battlements, an irate human man dressed in inquisition soldiers armour began yelling at him from behind.  
"No! Those beams are to go to the stables you stupid ox! Don't you have brains in those horned heads of yours?"  
The man huffed with indignation but Katar's blood boiled instantly with anger. He turned sharply on his heel, shifting to hold the planks over one shoulder like he would hold his battle axe, and quickly closed the distance between them. He towered over the man by at least a foot, and made sure to make his presence as looming and threatening as possible, the mark seemingly reacting to his anger, flaring brightly as he stared down at the man with a steely expression.  
"What was that you just said to me?" He asked, eyes narrowed and brow set in a glare that could frighten a mountain lion.

The man instantly paled, eyes going wide with fear and darting to the timber beams as if he expected to be struck with them. Katar wasn't sure it would be a bad idea.  
"M- My lord! Erm- Forgive me I- I didn't-"  
Katar let him squirm for a few seconds before speaking sharply at him once more.  
"What's your name soldier?"  
"Banns, ser. Richard Banns."  
He stood rigidly to attention, falling back into the comfort of protocol and staring into the middle distance to avoid meeting Katar's eye.  
"Well then, Banns,"

Katar swung the timbers around off his shoulder, and the man flinched away slightly before staggering as the heavy beams were placed unceremoniously in his arms.  
"If you think you know best, you can get the job done. You're on construction until the commander says otherwise."  
Without waiting for a response he turned around and walked back towards his quarters, content to bathe and be done with work for the day. He would talk to Cullen later, perhaps arrange for him to work with some of the other qunari dotted around Skyhold. Whatever it took, his soldiers would know respect, whether they liked it or not. If he had to build this Inquisition from the ground up with his bare hands, so be it.


	5. Bait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katar finds some fun in the western approach

The wind rushed past his ears, filled with the sound of wing beats. He squinted his eyes at the bright desert sky and all of a sudden a shadow fell across the party as a pair of bright red wings hovered in front of the sun.  
The membranes glowed almost translucent and crimson scales reflected bright patterns of light across the stones, as large muscled shoulders rolled to move the wings into a dive.  
He grinned and watched in awe as the huge beast hurtled towards the ground, letting loose a great roar that reverberated in his chest.

Something about dragons just called to him, in a way he simply couldn't explain. Perhaps it was the horns, or the way his mother had described them to him as a child, mixing in phrases in qunlat. Regardless, when he was asked to lure and study one he could hardly resist. Normally Orlesian nobles frustrated him to no end, but Frederick had an enthusiasm for the beasts that was almost contagious, and his own curiosity wouldn't let him walk away from such an opportunity.  
The ground shook violently as four clawed feet dug deep into the sand and stone, and Katar had to suddenly duck behind a pillar to avoid a gout of flame that erupted from its mouth past a row of sharp teeth, guided by a long forked tongue.

He had been surprised the lures had worked so effectively, but clearly all their good fortune had been used up. Perhaps their own presence was the only bait needed.  
He unsheathed his battle axe from his back, weighing it happily in his hands. Cassandra, Sera and Vivienne were scattered around nearby and he nodded meaningfully at each of them. So much for careful observation.

Rounding the corner he felt a familiar tingle as Vivienne began casting barrier spells, and he let loose a roar to rival the dragons own as he charged towards its legs with his axe brandished forward. It crouched low and spun to lash out with its tail but Katar simply embedded his axe in the flesh and allowed himself to be swept along as the appendage flattened the nearby structures. The barrier absorbed most of the impact leaving him with nothing more than a few bruises, and he wrenched the axe out with satisfaction to see blood the same colour as its scales begin to gush into the dust.

Around him Cassandra was wrestling with one of its forelegs, Vivienne stood a short distance away providing extra protection and small bolts of lighting flashing at its eyes, and Sera couldn't be seen at all, though the sound of buzzing and smashing glass assured him she wasn't far.  
It would be a day to remember.


	6. A calm future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the years following the disbanding of the Inquisition, a lifetime of fighting finally gives way to something new

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Despite the fact that DA4 will likely ruin everything, I think my Inquisitor deserves to be happy :')

The evening was quiet, as many evenings were these days. He sat in the living room of the estate, or what he considered to be one of the living rooms anyway. Josephine seemed to have a number of almost identical rooms across the estate that she insisted were specially for separate occasions, but if it had a chair and a fireplace then it was good enough for him. The effects of growing up in a one room house, he supposed.  
He had a book open on his lap, something Frederick had loaned him from the university of Orlais. Nobles and stuffy scholars normally grated on his nerves like nothing else, content to talk nonsense circles around each other and ignore the rest of the world. But Frederick was different. Willing to get right in the thick of it, learning by experience out in the world.  
He still hadn't forgotten fighting the high dragon out in the desert, the way its scales shined and cast red shadows on the ground, the way its roar could crack the ancient stones that surrounded them. It was exhilaration he'd rarely felt before or since.  
So he spent some of his free time reading the books on dragons that the man had since written, describing their terrifying features and habits based on the experiences both of them had gathered over the years, that is until he looked up to see two small girls stood on either side of his chair with matching grins.

"Horsey, daddy, horsey!"  
That was how they pleaded to him. Abigail tugged on the edge of his sleeve, her round grey eyes staring into his in a way that made his heart swell. Sarah held one of his prosthetics, arms outstretched as high as she could reach as she proffered it towards him.  
It had been a gift from some noble trying to ask a favour, all ornately wrought metal and inlaid gemstones that made it far too heavy and impractical to use in most situations. In truth he could muddle through just fine with only his right arm in day to day life, his days of cleaving his way through the countryside long passed.  
But for this they knew he needed both arms, favouring the glittering jewel-encrusted prosthetic like young girls would, and they also knew he could never say no to them if they upticked the pitch of their voices and batted their eyelashes.  
He sighed with a smile and put his book aside, taking the arm from her hands and pinning it between his elbow and his chest as he worked to fasten the leather straps.  
"Alright, alright." He conceded, standing from his chair and following them as they yelled their triumph and pulled him towards the centre of the room, determined to drag him into their game.

And that was how Sera found him, as she came to visit, strolling into the estate unannounced having let herself in through a window left ajar. On his hands and knees on the floor of the living room, two giggling girls sat on his back. One gripping his one good horn for balance as the other wobbled more precariously, occasionally grabbing her sisters hair or clothing to stay seated upright, much to said sisters protests.  
Katar turned his head at the sound of her entering the room, causing his daughter to grip tighter onto his horn as it moved and disrupted her stability, and the two of them locked eyes. Embarrassment quickly rushed to his face and he saw Sera grinning gleefully, already beginning to double over in laughter as Katar grumbled a warning.  
"Not a word."

"Auntie Sera!!" The girls squealed as they noticed her, jumping off of their father to run up to her, demanding to be picked up and fussed over.  
Sera quickly obliged, gathering Sarah into her arms and spinning in place while she screamed and laughed.  
"Wow Abigail, you're getting big!" She cooed, placing the young girl back on the ground.  
"I'm Sarah!" She replied indignantly, as Abigail tugged insistently on the hem of her shirt, demanding the same attention.  
Katar couldn't tell if she had mixed the two children up on purpose or not, but her attention diverted to him with a smug grin as he dusted off his trousers and approached.  
"Well hello there Mr. qulobo." She said in a low voice, amusement bleeding through every word.  
"It's qalaba, and I'll kill you if you say that again." He threatened under his breath, but she appeared not to take him seriously at all, only lifting Abigail up onto her hip with a huff.

"Oof, you don't half make big children inky-butts."  
Katar shook his head.  
"When are you going to let that nickname die? I'm not Inquisitor anymore, not for years, you should know this by now. I'm retired."  
"And what? I'm supposed to come up with all new names for you?! Fine, then you can just be butts from now on."  
The twins giggled and Sera grinned at them.  
"Please don't teach them that." Katar sighed, putting a hand to his temple. "Josephine is already going to kill me for their only qunlat word being vashedan."  
Abigail took that opportunity for her eyes to light up as she shrieked the word as loud as possible, and Katar was once more thankful that most didn't know what it meant as he frantically attempted to shush the toddler.  
Sera laughed as Katar took Abigail from her hands, putting her back down on the ground and addressing the twins.  
"Now go on and play you two."

He watched as they ran off to find entertainment elsewhere in the house until a sudden thought seized him.  
"Stay out of your mothers study!" Katar called after them and then shook his head with a sigh.  
"They won't listen anyway. I don't know why I waste my breath. Last week they 'illustrated' a number of letters meant for trading partners."  
Sera giggled again.  
"You know that's a good one. I bet they'd make good Jennys." Her eyes suddenly widened and she turned to Katar with an excited expression.  
"We should totally make them Jennys! They're little so they can fit into small spaces, and nobody would ever suspect a kid!"  
Katar felt the need to stop her before her mind ran away with the possibilities.  
"We aren't making my toddlers Jennys."  
"Awww come on!" She bounced around him like an excited toddler herself as he pleaded. "We'd start them small, only use them for the little things, just pranks and stuff. We'll wait until they're a few years older to start doing real Jenny work."  
"Now you really are asking for Josephine to kill me."  
She huffed with a sullen expression, following him to the sofas as he set about removing his unwieldy limb.  
"Hmf. She ruins all our fun."

"Anyway, what about you and Dagna? Do you think you'll ever have kids?"  
He ventured a moment later, hoping the question would forestall any further arguments, and Sera scoffed with a laugh.  
"Well it doesn't really go does it? I thought you'd know this, having squirts of yourself and all. You see when a mummy and a daddy-"  
"Oh shove off." He rolled his eyes and gave her a shove on the shoulder to which she grinned. "I don't need an explanation, thank you."  
"Well yeah, can't get kids with two women. We don't have the... equipment."  
She wiggled her eyebrows emphatically on the last word, and seemed pleased with herself at the snort it earned from him.  
"You know that's not what I meant. You could always adopt."  
She seemed to actually consider the idea with some semblance of serious thought for a moment, before tossing her head with a sigh and a wave of her hand.  
"Nah. Anyway I've got those two. Auntie Sera is good enough for me, no kids of mine around to get in the way of the good bits."  
Her eyes seemed to light up suddenly once more, returning back to the purpose of her visit.  
"Now speaking of the good bits, exactly how retired are you??"  
He chuckled under his breath and motioned for her to follow him further into the house.  
"Go on, I'm listening."


End file.
